Two Under One Sky
by yuuago
Summary: Australia meets someone while travelling down the roads in what's left of his land. He can't put his finger on it, but there's something about this Max guy that makes him feel that he can trust him. [Australia & Max friendship. Set some time after the events in Fury Road. Rating is for language only.]


**Notes**

Thanks for reading!

I've seen some people discussing the idea of Max being quasi-immortal due to the folk narrative air of the films and the fact that the timelines don't match up realistically. I like that idea, so I decided to incorporate it.

* * *

 **Two Under One Sky**

It was dangerous, talking to people who you came across in the desert. Talking to anyone you met anywhere was dangerous. You never could tell if they'd try to kill you right off the bat. Or take you, which was worse. Or, they might think you had yourself a plan to do that to them, and they'd act as if they knew what was on your mind. Who could blame them?

But sometimes, it wasn't like that.

This one wasn't like that.

Australia had found him in the heat of the afternoon, stopped in the shadow of a large rock formation that stood tall in the blank horizon, casting relieving shadow to one side. The guy had the right idea, hiding away there when the afternoon was at its hottest and taking in a bit of the cool. Problem was, he'd had the same idea himself.

He didn't know there was someone else there until he was practically on top of him. By then, if the guy had been hostile, it would've been too late. So, he decided to try his luck. Cut the engine of his bike and gave him a wave.

"Oi mate, how's things?"

The biker in front of him looked alive, more or less. He stood leaning against the rock, arms folded over his chest as if he'd been waiting. Well, maybe he was waiting. He would have heard him coming, wouldn't he? And that could be good cause for worry.

It could be a bad sign, the fact that the guy hadn't run off as soon as he heard it. Or it could be good. Might be a friendly, this one. Never could tell. But, at least, he looked alive, and in one piece, and more or less put together. Tired as hell, but that was all, and who _didn't_ look exhausted these days? Good sign.

The guy gave Australia a once-over, slow, taking him in and sizing him up. "Who's asking?"

Australia shrugged. No point in getting too familiar just yet. The name he'd had, well, that was long gone, and chances were this guy wouldn't recognize him anyway, not by that. "Someone looking for news," he said. "That's all."

The biker looked at him for a moment, not saying anything. Australia waited. There was nothing new about that look; he'd seen it before. A hundred times before. Well, more than that. Thousands. It was that evaluating look, that 'is this guy crazy or dangerous or both' look. And he couldn't blame him for giving him that look, because it was the look he was giving the guy himself.

There was something about him. Something he couldn't put his finger on. Something in the way this bloke looked, except that it wasn't a look, it was a feeling. A sensation in the air, an undefined something that tapped its fingers down his spine and up again until it got comfortable in his hindbrain like a lizard on a rock.

It was a feeling he hadn't had in a very, very long time.

"Some news?" the biker said finally, like he was testing the words out, like someone hadn't asked him that in ages. "Okay. Let's talk."

* * *

The air was cold. There was a chill that only a desert night could bring, all the heat from the day sucked out into the emptiness of the sky.

They sat side by side with their backs against the flat rock surface, gazing up at the clear starry night. His bike was close at hand, just in case he needed it, but he didn't think it would come to that. No worries there. This wasn't one of those guys. Not that kind. It wasn't as if you could know a guy just from talking to him all afternoon, of course, but after a while, you could guess at it.

The stars shone above them, cool and bright and still.

They were from before, himself and the other guy, and wasn't that strange. Australia could tell. It was in the way he talked, and what he knew. He hadn't been sure at first; the guy looked too damn young to be from back then, just from the look of him. Sometimes you couldn't be sure, but there were _limits_. Humans didn't kick around forever, he knew that too well. And there was that feeling, too. This guy wasn't a Nation, he knew that. So what the hell was he?

Better not ask.

The guy didn't talk much, and even direct questions didn't get much of an answer, but that was all right. What he did give was enough for Australia to be sure.

It was a special occasion, then.

Australia slipped his hand inside of his jacket. The guy beside him tensed, and stayed tense even when what he pulled out was nothing but a small package. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw him do a double-take.

"Want a smoke?" Australia said, unable to stop the grin that spread over his face as he waved the cigarette packet at him. Without waiting for an answer, he slipped one out and offered it to his fellow traveller.

The guy stared at it, then gave a satisfied grunt and took it from him. "Got a light?" he asked.

"Sure, mate."

The lighter brightened the darkness. The packet went back into his coat. They sat together, cigarettes balanced between their fingers, staring up at the smoke that lazily wound its way up to the sky.

"Stale as hell," Australia heard himself say. "But not that bad, I guess."

"How would you know the difference?"

"How would _you_?"

That shut the guy up, at least for a moment. It was the truth. It had been so long, could either of them remember what fresh cigarettes tasted like? Probably not. And even if they could, the memory would be different from what the real thing was back then. That's how it always went, didn't it. Especially if you'd been kicking around for a while.

Australia cleared his throat and looked away. Best not to ruin the moment.

"You said you were out east," he said after a while. Waited. No response. But the silence told him enough: the guy was listening, at least. It was that kind of silence. Well, then. How about that. Turning his head a bit, Australia gave him a look over. He was staring upward, cigarette to his lips, a thoughtful expression just visible in the way the dim moonlight played on his face. The cherry glowed bright orange in the dark.

Eventually, the guy took himself down from whatever thought he was lost in, and looked over at him. "Yeah?" he said. Both a question and an answer.

"How far did you go? Did you go by Sydney?"

A shake of the head, which could have meant anything. No, he didn't go that far. Or no, he did, but it wasn't worth it. "You won't find anything out there."

"I wasn't asking that."

A grunt to acknowledge that he was right about it. He _wasn't_ asking that, not with words at least. Nothing else.

Australia closed his eyes and sighed. Not a good idea, to take your eyes off someone, not in times like this. But it was all right, as far as he was concerned. Not that he could trust this one fully - you couldn't trust anybody all the way, these days, or even halfway. But he could trust him far enough. Far enough to be sure that he wouldn't nick his stuff, that he wouldn't kill him, and that he'd get an honest answer, or at least as honest as the guy could give.

Maybe he should be honest himself, too. Wouldn't hurt.

"I was thinkin' that if I could get to Sydney, I might be able to find a way across the water. Put something together, find a boat that could get me to New Zealand." He paused. Nothing. He could feel the guy staring at him.

"Why?"

"I have a brother," Australia said softly. "In Auckland." Not quite the whole truth, but close enough.

A long silence followed that. He could guess at what the guy was thinking. Your brother's dead, mate. Even if you could get a boat and navigate it, you'd bypass New Zealand altogether and end up in the middle of fucking nowhere. Or you'd get there, and find it no better than here. If there's anything left of New Zealand to begin with.

"You wouldn't make it."

It was the kindest way he could have put it. So, Australia gave a nod of acknowledgment. Then - just in his own defence, no need to go letting it sit and look like he'd give up just because the guy had told him that - said, "That's why I haven't tried it."

No reply. Well, what could you say to that, anyway? Maybe it was a good thing the guy didn't talk much. There were some things he didn't want to hear anybody running their mouth on. That was one of them.

Eventually, the guy cleared his throat. "What're you looking for?"

"What?"

"You asked me to talk. If you aren't going to Sydney, what do you want to find out?"

Those were more words than the guy had said at once in the entire time they'd sat together. By the look of it, it took something out of him, or maybe he was just that tired. So, Australia let him be for a moment. Took some time to think on it. Eventually, he gave a nod. It really boiled down to one thing, didn't it.

"People."

"... People?"

"That's right. People who remember." He looked over at the guy, took in his quiet, thoughtful look. Did he know what he was getting at? Maybe. "And people who don't. People who want to build up again, y'know? But not any old way. People who want to try making it better."

The guy seemed to be thinking it over. Australia shut up and let him think.

"Over that way." A gesture with his thumb. "Toward the mountains."

"...Mate, that way's the fucking Citadel, I don't-"

"Under new management."

This guy is bloody crazy, Australia thought, whoever he is. Whatever he is. But even then, he couldn't say that the idea didn't catch his interest. "Under new management," he repeated, running his tongue over the phrase. It sounded like some relic of the old world, and it sounded good. "What kind of new management?"

"Better than the old management."

He couldn't get a good look at his face. Better fix that, he thought. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he slipped out the lighter. Let it flicker, once, bright in the dark. He could see the guy's eyes: dark, quiet, set carefully in a relaxed face. Hard to tell, hard to be sure, but by the look of him he wasn't lying.

"Right," he said. "Well. Let's hear it. Tell me about it. Who's set the old Citadel to rights, then?"

"Her name's Furiosa." And as the cigarette smoke curled around both of them, the guy talked, and Australia listened.

* * *

Few words. The guy didn't say much, taking the shortest route he could to make his point. But that was all right. What little he did say was packed full of things to think about.

So, Australia let him talk. He listened. Took in the sound of his voice as he looked up at that empty sky. It sounded far-fetched, some of it. Well, most of it. It seemed almost impossible that anybody could try to unseat Immortan Joe, let alone do it successfully. But not once did it sound like the guy was pulling his leg, and that was interesting.

"So you're saying," Australia said, "that this Furiosa is all right, then."

"And the others, too. The other women."

"Right, them too." He sighed. It _sounded_ all right. Promising, even. "You said some of the other ones were older. From before?"

A shrug. "Does it matter?"

Australia shrugged right back. Maybe it didn't matter. But maybe it did. Not in the grand scheme of things - that old world was long gone. But himself? Just how long could he keep kicking around if no one remembered what used to be there before?

Talking to the guy made him feel a damn sight better than he'd felt in months. But what of it? It's just because he doesn't want to kill you, he told himself. That's all. He doesn't understand what you are.

Or does he? The feeling kicked at Australia's brain. He tried to ignore it. "How do I know you aren't pulling one on me?" he asked. "Like - could be this new management ain't any better than before."

There was a silence from the guy. This time, it was a cold silence. "Could be," the guy said. "But it isn't. Furiosa's... she's better."

Thanks, mate, Australia thought. Really helpful.

Time passed. Neither of them said anything. It could have been seconds, minutes, longer than that. Time didn't mean much any more. Who would tell? The path the moon took across the sky was all they had to judge by.

"We could go together."

It was the guy who spoke. Australia gave him a long look for that. "Oh?"

A slow nod, just a shifting of the shadows. "We're..." Pause. "Furiosa. And me. We get along."

It shouldn't be so hard to say 'we're mates', Australia thought. But that was what the world had come to, hadn't it. Words were lost. Friends were lost. You had to cast around for something and it might not be what you were after. You had to make do.

"Okay." He nodded. "Fine. In the morning. You and me, we'll head west, and you can show me how your mate Furiosa fixed the old place up."

"Right."

"Right."

* * *

Both of them were still alive in the morning. That was not as surprising as it should have been. Well - not from his end. He knew himself well enough. But you never could be sure of those ones you picked up on the side of the road. You never could guess at whether they'd talk a good game and then off you.

Even if they were almost, but not quite, like yourself.

Chances were, Australia thought, the other guy was thinking the same thing.

After their meagre breakfast, they put themselves together. The air wasn't hot yet, and the air was nothing but breezes, rather than wind strong enough that between the force and the grit it'd strip the skin off of you.

The guy sat there on his bike, helmet in hands, looking westward, the way they'd be headed: away from the sun, toward the mountains. Toward the Citadel - or what used to be the Citadel. There was a quiet look on his face. He looked different in the morning light. Different, but not too much. Quiet, but not closed, and that was all right. No worries about that.

There was one thing, though. Just one thing. He wouldn't ask him what he was; maybe the guy wasn't even sure himself. But there was one thing.

"Hey," Australia said. "What's your name?"

The guy looked startled, like he hadn't expected that question. Then his expression settled, and he nodded. "Max." A pause. "You?"

Well, damn. He should have expected that question. "Uh..."

"Fair's fair." Max spread his hands. "I told you mine."

A nod. He couldn't argue with that. Might as well be honest about it. "Australia."

"Australia?"

"Right."

The raised-eyebrow look, well, he halfway expected that, but the little half-smile was a surprise. It was gone in a second. Did he know? Did he understand? He was from before. He was - something. Not a Nation. But something. Did that name still mean something to him? Or anyone?

Did it matter?

"You're ready to go?"

"If you are, mate."

Maybe it didn't matter.

There was something that did matter: the sound of engines keeping pace with one another. Not just one this time, but two. Side by side. Partners.

They rode toward the mountains, and the warmth of the morning sun flowed over the ground behind them.

 _End_


End file.
